Blood Will Out
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Steve never found out who his soulmate might be. Phil has never been interested in finding his. But when they finally meet after Manhattan is nearly destroyed, they become friends. Will that be enough, or will Fate intervene? Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this. Capsicoul soulmate fic! Rated to be safe.


"Blood Will Out"

Steve Rogers stayed in his seat, fiddling with the computer thing Agent Sitwell had given him, and feigning interest. But the truth was that his mind kept wandering. Sitwell was very business-like, and that was swell, in its own way; it was good to know that SHIELD was so well-organised. By the sounds of it, they would need to be.

Yet… why did they want some guy who wore a costume and threw around a piece of metal? The weaponry these days _had_ to outstrip the Captain America shield; Howard always joked about how archaic a shield was. His son was much more suited to a modern superhero group than Steve. For gosh sakes, he was struggling with this Starkpad, even after Sitwell gave what should've been easy enough instructions to follow.

No one was going to want a soldier seventy years out of time.

"Phil's gonna be giving me dirty looks for at least a year," Sitwell continued. Steve tuned back in.

"Phil?" he said.

"Agent Coulson," Sitwell said. "You'll be meeting him when he gets back from his solo mission. He's a huge Captain America fan. He'll hate me for meeting you first. He was on the team that found you in the ice, and stayed on the security detail until a big hammer landed in the middle of New Mexico."

"Right," Steve said. He was still – strangely – curious about Coulson. But there didn't seem to be any point in asking questions about him when he could just wait until they met. "So, uh… thank you." He handed over the Starkpad, and stood up to stretch his legs. He wondered how close they were, and strolled to the cockpit to look out over the futuristic metal ship.

"Not long now," Sitwell said. He was sitting again, and Steve watched in the reflection of the window as the agent made a call on his mobile phone. "Sir? Yes, we've got him. Nearly there. He said he's interested. How's Phil getting on? Hasn't found Barton yet?" Then Sitwell swore, and Steve dropped his head.

There was no way he was going to fit in here.

"At least you never have to buy Phil another Christmas present," Sitwell said, the name immediately drawing Steve's attention again. "Agreeing to bring Rogers in has won you major brownie points, sir. Yes, director. Starting to go down now."

Sitwell was finishing up the conversation as they touched down, Steve barely managing to keep his balance. He wasn't used to landing on a moving object. Well, not an object moving on water. Trains… trains were another matter.

"Hey, better be prepared to sign a few trading cards," Sitwell said, clapping Steve on the shoulder as he passed.

"Trading cards?" Steve asked, confused.

Sitwell just grinned, and didn't say a word.

* * *

"Transmission from Agent Coulson!" an agent shouted, and everyone on the bridge of the Helicarrier shut up. Every screen in the room was suddenly filled with the image of a man wearing a black suit, hands crossed in front of his body, standing in the middle of a room. There was someone on a hospital bed behind him, and it looked like a few pairs of legs in the lower corners of the frame. Then the man on the bed moved, and Steve realised that he wasn't looking at a picture.

"Wha—"

"Stay there, Barton," Coulson said, not even looking around. "Director Fury, I'd like to request a pick-up."

"Who do you have?" Fury asked.

"Including Barton and Selvig, there are five SHIELD technicians, three guards, and five soldiers. They must have known I was coming; I estimate another six or seven bodies working for Loki, and they must have escaped before my arrival."

Then Coulson proceeded to outline Loki's plan. Half of Steve took it in; the other half was marvelling at this man who…

"I thought you said he was on a solo mission," he hissed to Sitwell. The agent raised his eyebrows.

"This was solo," he said. Steve gaped. "That's Phil Coulson."

"But… but that was fifteen men he took down, by himself!"

"Yeah. Your point is?"

Steve shook his head, and gave Coulson his full attention.

(Well, _nearly_ his full attention.)

* * *

Even though they had the advantage over Loki, the Avengers hadn't been able to save everyone, not even with SHIELD's help. (Or was it the other way around?) Steve's heart sank as he looked around the wreckage. Blood. Right now, there were people out there who'd dropped dead of what appeared to be heart attacks. Family, friends, strangers would find them, and they wouldn't know the truth. Not right away.

Blood brought people together; blood spilt tore them apart. Steve had had this drummed into him, just like every other kid, almost from birth. You found your soul-mate when their blood reacted to yours. Steve had never seen it, but his mom had told him it was spectacular, better than any fireworks, better than any seven course meal, better than anything in the world. He'd always wanted to find that one person. If he and Peggy had had time, he would have formally asked her for a blood-checking. A couple of drops each onto a metal tray would do it. He guessed he would never know now. For all he knew, Erskine's formula had messed up Steve's blood enough for him never to find his soulmate. He wasn't born with this body, after all.

Nevertheless, he blinked back tears, blamed them on dust, and got on with the clean-up.

"I guess Agent Coulson's on the other side of the city," Bruce said as Steve helped him stand up. "Look, I'll find my way back to… wherever I'm supposed to be. Don't worry about babysitting me."

"You're my team-mate," Steve said firmly. "It's not babysitting." And then something made him pause. "You've met Agent Coulson?"

"Yeah. You haven't?"

"Not yet. When did you—"

"Hey!" Iron Man landed in front of them, and the helmet's face retracted. "Wanna get something to eat? I'm throwing a party, by the way, but Pepper says we need time to prepare, so it'll be a couple of days. But I throw awesome parties."

"I don't doubt that," Bruce said. He nearly staggered into Steve's side. "I think I'll need to sleep for about twenty-four hours straight first."

"I'll take you somewhere, anywhere you wanna go," Tony said.

"Yeah, you go on," Steve said, and he herded Bruce over to Tony. "Get some rest, doc."

Bruce nodded tiredly, and Steve watched in amazement as, the moment Bruce settled into the crook of the suit's arm, Tony's face softened. He looked gentle, cautious, and fascinated, all at the same time. It was gone quickly as the mask settled back into place, and Iron Man scooped up the doctor and took off into the sky.

Steve returned his attention to the task at hand. But he still didn't meet Agent Coulson.

* * *

The party was loud. Not as loud as gunfire, or as robotic aliens tearing apart a city; but it was still loud, and it took Steve back to the Stark expos. Tony must've inherited Howard's stronger-than-steel eardrums.

There was a long buffet table against one wall, leaving plenty of space for dancing (which Steve still avoided), and drinks at either end. He didn't bother with alcohol; it was a waste of resources when taking into consideration that it had no effect on someone imbued with super soldier serum. Steve was perfectly happy to stick with orange juice, and he placed his glass on the table as he leaned across to start filling his plate.

He must have still been a bit tired from the battle two days ago, as well as all the cleanup efforts. Or really hungry, because he didn't notice that someone was behind him until they bumped into each other.

"Oh, gosh! I'm so sorry," he said, immediately plucking a napkin from the table and turning to face the victim of his large frame.

When their eyes met, Steve wondered where his breath had gone. He dropped the napkin, swiftly caught by the other man.

"You're Agent Coulson!" Steve said. A couple of people looked over at them. The agent laughed, turning pink in the cheeks.

"I don't need this," he said, and he folded the napkin. "But thanks for the thought." He tossed the cloth back onto the table with startling accuracy. "And you're Steve Rogers, aka Captain America."

"That's right, sir," Steve said, and he held out his hand. Coulson shook it firmly. "You can call me Steve, if you want."

"Then I guess you can call me Phil. Not 'sir'."

"Of course." Steve eventually let go of Phil's hand, and picked up his juice for something to do. "Are you, uh… enjoying the party?"

"That's all relative," Phil said, and he glanced around the room. "For one of Stark's parties, this is pretty tame. But I usually have to search a lot longer to find acceptable company." His gaze found Steve's again. Steve swallowed.

"Am I acceptable company?"

"Oh, definitely," Phil murmured. Then his cheeks went even more red, and he shook his head firmly. "Sorry. Uh, thank you for signing my cards."

"It gave Ms. Romanov something to do," Steve said, shrugging. "She seemed pretty distressed."

"Natasha and Clint are close," Phil said. He went back to observing the room. "I needed to distract her. Thank you for being so accommodating." There was a pause, and then he continued. "How did you recognise me?"

"From that video, when you reported in that you'd found him," Steve said. He chugged down the rest of his juice, and put the glass back on the table. "You took down fifteen men, without killing any of them, and your tie wasn't even out of place."

"I _did_ tidy up before calling SHIELD," Phil said, eyebrows drawing together. He almost sounded affronted, and Steve rushed to correct himself.

"But I mean, you were just so… collected about it," he said. "I was impressed."

"Oh." Phil's cheeks seemed to get even darker, which had seemed impossible until a few moments ago. "Thank you, sir… I mean, Steve. You've always been my role model, and I guess you could say that my childhood ambition was to be just like you. Well," he cleared his throat, "even half as good as you."

"You've lived up to that, and more."

Steve could see Phil's smile, even behind the flute of champagne.

* * *

When Steve went down, thinking that he was going to die, he worried for the soulmate he was leaving behind. If she (or he, a little voice had piped up) was out there, he wondered whether that person would still die. The thought made his heart ache.

After he adjusted to the idea that he'd been buried in the ice for nearly seventy years, Steve had remembered another part of soulmate mythology. Because all soulmates were preordained, if one was 'sent out' too early, either the other had to be sent out sooner, or the first had to be detained somehow. Had Steve been sent out too early? Was his soulmate really here, seventy years on, waiting for him to find them? Was his plane crashed by Fate because he kissed the wrong person?

But there was still such a slim chance that his blood, flowing with chemicals, would match anyone's. And, according to all that he had read – and continued to read – ever since he was rescued from that plane, people just didn't seem to care about soulmates anymore. They were too impatient. Oh, it was all fine (most of the time) once their soulmate _did_ come along; divorce had been legalised for just that reason. But until then, men and woman played fast and loose with others. Romance had gone, just as marriage was now supposed to be for 'love'. How ironic.

Love. Why did Steve feel like it was becoming an archaic notion, despite the fact that marriage influenced solely by soulmate-ship had become a thing of the past? At least Pepper and Tony weren't married; that made it easier when Tony and Bruce made a blood-match.

In Peggy's file, it had stated the people with whom she had compared blood samples. One of those names listed under FAILURE was 'Capt. Steve Rogers'. Well, clearly they couldn't have been soulmates anyway. That didn't stop the ache.

"You've never had a match?" Steve asked. He and Phil had become friends, and they were sitting on a park bench, having lunch. Steve was the only one who could get Phil to leave headquarters during the day for something not work-related.

"I was never really interested in all of that," Phil said, and he looked at Steve over the top of his sunglasses. "You?"

"I don't think I could match anyone," he said, holding up an elbow. "Erskine's formula did some good work; but it's probably…"

Phil finished drinking his coffee, and threw the cup into a nearby bin. "You won't know unless you try it, Steve."

"Why aren't you interested in finding out, Phil?"

The agent sighed. "I'm not exactly the stuff of romance novels. And in my line of work, any relationships are… risky, to say the least. To me, to my soulmate, any family we might have had. Enemies coming after us – them – or just plain risky in that… well, I never know whether I'm still going to be alive by the end of the mission, or whether Director Fury will have to make that call to whoever's left behind. 'I'm sorry to inform you, but…' I've had to make that call before, and I hate it every time."

"You're scared?" Steve asked. Though it wasn't really a question.

Phil looked ready to argue the point. Then he shut his mouth, opened it again, and shook his head.

"Well… I guess, yeah. I am scared."

"Fate paired you with someone for a reason, Phil. Shouldn't you go looking?"

"Shouldn't you?" he countered. "You've got a lot more years left, Steve."

"And that's my problem," Steve said, tapping the back of the wooden bench. "There's a possibility that I might outlive any family. As my soulmate grows older, I'll just stay… this." He indicated his body.

"You _do_ know that that'd never happen, right?" Phil said, glancing at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Soulmates age at the same rate after they've Bonded. If a blood match isn't affected by the serum, I'm sure any longevity on your part would extend to the person who was made for you."

"Whoever that is," Steve said softly, taking in the landscape and mentally sketching it.

* * *

Nearly a year after Manhattan was cleared up, a small part of downtown New York became the target of a minor terrorist group from Latveria. SHIELD was worried that it was practise for something larger, and sent in whoever was available to undertake reconnaissance and deal with the threat.

Unfortunately, this eventually involved both Steve and Phil – who'd been taking one of their usual lunchbreaks – being backed into a corner by Latverians with machine guns, and no apparent escape.

"At least help will be here soon," Steve said, trying to maintain a positive attitude.

"Steve, I don't think you'd recover if they peppered your body with bullets, so please back towards me," Phil said. Steve obeyed. He recognised that tone; it was the 'I have a plan, now obey me so I can put it into action' tone.

In a matter of seconds, Phil had thrown a grenade (the exact size and shape of a quarter) at the column closest to the terrorists. While they were distracted by the ceiling falling apart there, he threw more at other columns, and then dragged Steve back while the rest of the ceiling crushed their attackers. More came down nearby, and they were separated by falling debris.

"Phil!" Steve shouted once his lungs were clear enough.

"Over here, Steve," Phil said. Steve heard some of the plasterwork shifting. "It's all right. I know the building. There's no asbestos." He coughed. "Are you in one piece?"

"Nearly," Steve said. He'd already sustained some injuries from an earlier fight, and not all of his wounds had begun to heal. Some of the falling ceiling had caused more damage. It wasn't anything the serum couldn't fix in its own time, though. "You?"

"Not as shiny as I usually am, and Sardi's wouldn't take me like this. But I'm alive."

"There's so much dust." Steve's coughs matched Phil's, and he squinted. "Can you shout 'Marco'?"

"We don't need to do that. We're not that far apart; it's just dark. Keep following my voice. I'm gonna get in touch with Stark."

Steve heard Phil speaking into the communicator, and began what should have been a short crawl across rubble, but which felt like it was taking an age.

"We're both fine," Phil told Tony. "Better than we should be."

"You brought down a roof, Agent."

"Only a few columns. If the building was better-constructed—"

"Well, it isn't one of mine, so what else can you expect?"

Steve was finally at Phil's side. "I'm here."

"Good," Phil said. He sounded a bit distracted, but he turned and reached out for Steve's shoulder. "I'm…"

The moment he rested his hand on Steve's arm, there was a flood of warmth. A bright light began to form where their injuries met, soon bathing the area in a pool of yellow-white, like the rays of a sun. Steve stared at the connection, and then met Phil's eyes. Tony's chatter was like background noise as they moved closer together. Phil cupped Steve's cheek with his free hand.

"Suddenly makes sense," Steve said, hoarse, but not from the dust. "Everything, ever since I first heard your name."

"Hey, what's going on?" Tony asked, voice tinny. "Agent? Cap? Rescue should take up to four hours, but I'll see what I can do to move it along. Guys?"

"No rush," Steve said, and his hands moved unerringly to Phil's waist.

"No rush at all," Phil said. His gaze never moved from Steve. "We've got some Bonding to do."

"Bonding?" Tony said.

But then Phil switched off their comms and placed them aside, before pulling Steve close by the front of his suit. Their mouths collided, lips dry from the dusty atmosphere, and Phil climbed into Steve's lap, still holding his arm. Now that their blood had made contact, the Bonding had commenced.

"Need to feel more of you," Phil murmured against Steve's lips.

"Don't let me go."

"I won't. Here." He pulled out a pocket knife and deepened the cut on his cheek. Steve had a matching cut on his, and Phil pressed them together. More light burst from there, and they both squeezed their eyes shut against the glare. Their arms, now free to move, tore at clothes. Phil shoved them behind Steve, creating a makeshift blanket, and pushed him into a lying position. Then he straddled his soulmate's body.

"Not exactly romantic, is it?" Steve said, but there was a twinkle in his eye. He hissed, smile disappearing, as Phil took them both in hand.

"I'm sorry," Phil said. "Next time, I swear—"

"This can just be our first time in a wrecked building," Steve said. He was trying to keep a clear head, trying so hard. But when Phil leaned over and kissed him, and continued to jerk them off while the cuts on their bodies pressed together, he let his brain take a vacation, and pulled Phil closer as they rushed to the end.

* * *

Phil looked across at Steve.

"So… how many wrecked buildings… do you see us… in?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "We're not fully Bonded yet, are we?" he asked.

"Close. Close enough for Fury to put a debrief on hold while we finish elsewhere. I refuse to take it further without being in a proper bed, and clean. With lubricant and protection. I'm sure there'll be something at Stark and Banner's."

"Well…" Steve cleared his throat. "I do, uh, have a few supplies. Bruce gave them to me. Said just in case we wanted to use them…"

"'We'?"

"You and I." Steve blushed. Could Phil sense things like that yet? "He guessed I was kind of sweet on you, and told me to use protection."

"You're sweet on me?"

"My subconscious must've been drawing me to you."

"That's how it starts," Phil said, and he struggled to a sitting position so that he could look at Steve properly. "I would have approached you myself, only I wasn't sure how much was hero worship of Captain, and how much was genuine attraction to Steve Rogers. Turns out," he shrugged, and smiled sheepishly, "it's always been Steve Rogers."

Steve rolled onto his side, watching as Phil picked up one of the communicators.

"Start rescue in five minutes' time," he said.

"Tell me you didn't have sex while I was trying to get through to you," Tony said. Steve could hear Bruce laughing in the background.

"We didn't," Phil said, and he glanced at Steve. "But we'll need somewhere to… complete the Bonding process. Suggestions?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," Tony said. "You've got less than ten minutes before a party reaches you."

Phil thanked him, never taking his eyes off Steve, and then dropped the communicator as he grabbed his side. Steve winced, feeling the echo of a pain in his ribs. It would've been a lot sharper if they'd finished Bonding.

"Just as long as I make it," Phil said jokingly; but Steve could hear the strain in his voice.

"Hey," Steve said, and he crawled off their clothes. "C'mon. Let's get dressed." He squinted at Phil, who looked uncomfortable. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"Probably at least one broken rib from before. You know that second lot of guys we intercepted?" Steve nodded. "I think it's from that. All this jostling around," he indicated the debris, "wouldn't have helped."

"And then we went and… did that," Steve said, looking at the mess on their bodies. He was overcome with guilt.

"I started it," Phil said. "And I'm never going to regret it."

Steve looked up at his soulmate, and then grabbed his hand. "You'll be okay. We're Bonded enough. I've got super soldier serum, remember? We'll be together forever, as long as we both live." His eyes caught sight of something, and he beamed. "Look." He stroked the side of a gash on Phil's stomach. "This is already knitting together."

Sure enough, the edges were coming together, and Phil gasped. "That's… that's incredible."

"Incredibly useful," Steve said. For one of the few times in his life, he actually felt one hundred percent smug about having taken Erskine's serum. It was healing his soulmate nearly as fast as it healed Steve. After they finished Bonding, it would be the same rate. Maybe Phil would stop aging? Maybe they really would be together forever? Tony didn't turn into a Hulk like Bruce; but then Phil hadn't become a super soldier.

"What're you thinking about?" Phil asked, poking Steve. He was grinning, and the cuts on his body were healing quickly. "Take advantage of being able to share your thoughts with me willingly, because in a few hours' time, you won't have a choice."

Steve leaned in and kissed Phil, just lightly, just once. "Thinking about how I'm the luckiest guy I know."

* * *

**Schmoop. Fluff. Whatever you want to call it, that's how this story has ended up. I know there wasn't much smut, and I apologise for that. Sigh.**

**Anyway, I came up with this idea aaaaaaaages ago, after I wrote and posted 'Sung by Sinatra', because I felt that an apology was necessary. Instead, my apology came in the form of 'Sleeping Bunny', and I didn't get started on this until recently. I honestly thought that it would be longer. Meh.**

**Please review!**


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